Tin
by scullyseviltwin
Summary: Most of the time, she was without, but so was he. That was something, she supposed.


thanks: to lowrise flare, not only for the beta, but for saving this story from becoming a humor piece.

---

tin: this silvery, malleable poor metal is not easily oxidized in air, and is used to coat other metals to prevent corrosion; traditional gift for ten year wedding anniversaries.

---

At the bottom of an aperitif glass, she found 27 reasons. She hadn't gone there for much of anything but the soothing burn of a drink after a particularly trying week. Drinks on Fridays always tasted like they meant something, and she wanted a hint of whatever she could get before she hopped the C back to Brooklyn.

It wasn't a choice to drink alone, it just happened. Elliot had grabbed a phone call that had taken him, what now, a half an hour and she'd mouthed that she'd meet him at McHale's.

So she sat at that characteristically glossy bar and found 27 reasons why she was sure fucking Elliot Stabler would be one of the best decisions she ever made. They came one after the other, a soothing cascade of exactly-what-she-needed-to-think, and she finished off the frigid swill of ice and whiskey with number twenty-seven-

Because she was in love with him.

Well, fuck.

---

It wasn't as surprising as it should have been how she had sectioned her days into with and without him. Segments of have and have not, smile and frown, growth and stasis. There was the job and that was good and real and she could sometimes see progress she made, but most times not and it just made her long for that five minute nothing in the morning, when they would sit across from one another and drink shit coffee and point out ostentatious op-ed pieces in the Times.

Simple things like that, maybe, defined her day. A shoulder shove after a dirty joke at a red light, sitting in that department-issue sedan. Or a... or a careless touch of the lower back en route to their ninth descent on an elevator that would take them back down to the city. Or that half-smile he only smiled when he was trying to refrain from uttering a jack-assed retort. Each part of him complimented each part of her and she wondered, from time to time, if he'd noticed that as well.

Most of the time, she was without, but so was he. That was something, she supposed.

---

The streetlight outside of her bedroom window had been flickering on and off for days; it made her want to learn morse code. The sodium arc, filtering between the early Spring leaves created intricate patterns on her walls that would appear and dissipate much like the harried writing of a child with a sparkler.

Waving it through the air, this way and that, spelling out their name.

The branches moved, this way and that.

It made her want to learn to know anything other than how to properly clean a firearm.

It made her want to see the patterns it would create on his skin and reminded her why she didn't like to think about him like that.

---

Forty was too old to be having such thoughts about another person, it really was and there was a decent part of her that found it to be genuinely pathetic. There were mid-life crises waiting in the wings to be chosen as appropriate, there were vacations she should have taken and men she should have dated and still, he was there, hand to shoulder after a bad case, patient smile waiting after a shrug of a particularly horrifying thought. Still, still, Elliot, the constant.

Not a romance of convenience, not a romance at all really. She'd battled with herself over allowing the thought of him in, allowing the thought of him to keep her awake at night, allow the thought of the "what if" persist. What really got to her was that she really didn't have the willpower to want to stop.

A big admission on her part, something that he needed to know, "You're the longest relationship I've ever had with a man," and no, she didn't see that changing any time in the near future.

Olivia saw their relationship as a long haul sort of deal and would bet that he did too.

---

It had been ten years and some-odd weeks since he'd slugged her in the shoulder and introduced himself as "Elliot Stabler, your new partner at the one six." That was the day that he learned how she took her coffee and she learned that he couldn't help but drum his fingers on the wheel when sitting at a red light.

It had been ten years and change and she wondered when she began to mete out her history in terms of not her job, but her partner.

Her eyes peeled open some time around nine a.m. and she didn't immediately realize that she'd managed to sleep eight hours. What she realized first was how the gauzy film of her curtains were floating in the wind, the sun was filtering in, spilling over the ledge of her window all over the floor. It was almost too much; Olivia resisted the urge to steal to the kitchen and retrieve dish cloths to mop up all of the bright light.

Day off, Saturday and it wasn't shocking to her that she didn't have anything planned. Morning paper, coffee, run, shower and then what? Then what? Organizing her bookshelf. Doing the dishes, the few there were.

But inevitably, she wound up back at the squad, squaring away paperwork, watching his desk as though she could make him manifest.

---

Olivia enjoyed noise, and she enjoyed quiet, and there were times when she craved either. There were times when she stubbornly needed both. They'd been sitting across from each other for twenty minutes and neither had dared to say a word; she swore she could hear him breathe, across from her, even over the sounds coming from the kitchen, the customers, the traffic outside.

"Thought you'd be the first to remember it," Elliot mentioned, pushing a fry across his plate.

Pausing with a forkful of lettuce on the way to her mouth, Olivia arched a brow in question. "What are you talking about?"

Elliot blinked, chewed and swallowed, shifted his eyes away from her for just a moment; in that moment, she felt his trepidation and his hope, sensed his insecurity. "We've been together for ten years." He blinked, "Ten years four weeks ago, actually."

Together; not partners, but together. Together in so many other ways.

"God," he added with a roll of his eyes, swiped at his mouth with a napkin. "You're the longest successful relationship I've had with a woman."

"Yeah," she sighed, pushing salad around her plate. "I've got a lot of staying power."

Underneath the table Elliot knocked his knee with hers and she fell in love all over again.

Well... fuck.

---

&end

comments and crit always welcome


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